


Boston Kreme

by orphan_account



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wasn't one for nepotism, he'd rather earn things off of his merit, but… on the other hand, it wasn't bad to have someone in his corner for once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boston Kreme

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Man this is some self-indulgent, selfish ass smut right here and I am not the least bit ashamed to admit it. There's not enough of this pairing written. I look to correct that. Here, have another 'congratulatory blow job for Dean Ambrose on finally winning a title during his singles career in WWE' fic, lord knows there's probably 80 million already. Also, puns!

_'Your winner… and NEW Intercontinental Champion, Dean Ambrose!'_

It was still ringing in his ears, the reality of it still not having settled in, even after taking pictures in the back holding the white leather belt, a title whose glory was once prestigious and which had fallen to some fabled curse in the past years… he intended on making it a blessed thing once more, the title that legends such as Pat Patterson, Randy Savage, Ultimate Warrior, Ricky Steamboat, Mr. Perfect, Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels, Roddy Piper… names of people that Dean had aspired to be like, names he grew up on, his heroes, they all held it. And now he was the newest champion. It was surreal. It hadn't felt real when he was told he was going to go over in the match, and it didn't feel real when his name was announced, and it didn't feel real when he held the belt and fuck it still didn't feel real now.

Heading towards his locker room to clean up before heading out for a celebratory round or five with Roman, it's with an unexpected tug out of a darkened corner that he was snatched from the main hallway, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. "What the-"

"Congratulations, champ."

He knew the voice, how couldn't he? It was once that had teased him for years, that drove his nerves along edge, all attached to a shorter man in front of him. The glint of silver jewelry gave it all away, as if Dean hadn't been familiar with the timbre of that soft speech that oozed with smugness.

Jimmy goddamn Jacobs.

"What, do I got you to thank for this, or somethin'?" Dean sounded confused, because if that were really the case, he and the older man would have to have some serious conversations about what this meant. Dean wasn't one for nepotism, he'd rather earn things off of his merit, but… on the other hand, it wasn't bad to have someone in his corner for once.

"You could say that." Everything Jimmy said always sounded like he was laughing at some unknown inside joke and it drove Dean insane. It made him question shit, and he wasn't a fan of being left in the dark about anything… ironic, considering how he could barely see a damn thing in the hallway he found himself in, his back pressed against the wall, his clammy skin sticking to the cool paint.

"Do I even wanna know what you did to get them to gimme this?"

"I'm good at what I do. You know this."

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to not let any smidge of what could be - erroneously, of course, how dare you insinuate this - jealousy show up in his voice. "Why am I not surprised…"

"I didn't do that. You know me better than that."

It was true. They'd hesitate to say that what they were was anything related to partners or boyfriends or anything resembling a relationship. They'd outright refuse to say they were any sort of Thing, let alone some kind of Thing that refused to deal with other people. No. That's silly. It didn't lessen the reality of the fact that whatever exactly they were, they weren't one for sharing.

"What, you mean to tell me you just sweet talked them into givin' me a title?"

"Maybe."

Dean still couldn't see in front of him, the dark of the hallway blocking his vision, but he hears the squeak of dress shoes, and the little huff of breath as what he can only predict is Jimmy moving onto his knees, and… yeah, those are hands at his belt, alright then.

"Fuckin' shit, here?!"

"I want to congratulate the new champ on his big win!"

Dean wanted to argue, really, this was ballsy even for them, but it's hard to remember how to word when there's a quick flash of cool air against his length, which was just barely hard still from adrenaline, and then the touch of Jimmy's hands, and then the wet heat of his mouth. Oh  _fuck_ , ok, they're doing this, right here, while Jimmy's still in his suit… shit…

One hand still gripping onto the championship belt for dear life, Dean's other hand went to rest at the back of Jimmy's neck before remembering one key detail: Jimmy treated every blow job like it was going to be the best blow job of his life, which meant that he'd have to bite his fist, or even risk getting teeth marks in the leather strap of the championship belt, for fear of letting any sound travel down this empty ass hallway he found himself in. He'd have to risk keeping quiet, knowing he'd end up needing to bite his tongue off, not if he was going to keep this as silent as he'd have to.

He can't help the way his hips go to meet with Jimmy's mouth, pushing his way deeper with each thrust. He should be fighting this, not wanting to be taken apart so goddamn quickly in an empty hallway of the caverns of the TD Garden, and the quiet  _thunk_  of his head against the painted concrete brick of the wall is almost enough to distract him from the dedicated fervor that Jimmy is working him over. It's all swirling tongue and ungodly suction and fuck, he's  _humming_  or laughing or something but it's causing this disgusting-good vibration around his cock and he swears he can taste blood from how hard he's biting his lip.

The noises Jimmy's making, because of course he's making noises, this is a challenge to Jimmy and the challenge is clearly to make Dean goddamn  _break_ , are wet and lewd and Dean's not quite sure one can cum just from sucking dick but if anyone  _could_  it's probably Jimmy Jacobs, with the way he's downright moaning with each swallow he makes, the slight convulsions of his throat just glancing across the tip of Dean's cock and he might die tonight.

It's a delayed reaction that makes him realize the guttural groan that rumbles forth from him as Jimmy's nose brushes against his body and now all bets are off. He's lost, he's desperately lost, and the hand that had rested, gently, at the back of Jimmy's head now cads up into the thick hair there, still soft even after lord knows many dye jobs, still a length that is familiar enough to be Jimmy, to be connected to dark doe eyes and soft features and a goddamn sinful mouth and-

"Ungh, fuck, baby… that's it, shit, just like that..." His fingers are now clenched firmly in Jimmy's hair, scratching against his scalp, and the manner in which he's thrusting his hips have him clenching his abs, his entire body feeling overwhelmed. His mouth now running away from him, being overheard the last thing on his mind, it's with repetitious oaths that he fucks into Jimmy's mouth, grateful for what times Jimmy's must have practiced not gagging because he's giving no reprieve in how he recklessly thrusts, chasing his release.

"Fuck, cmon, so close, fuck, oh fuck, oh shit baby, so fuckin' close…"

Neither of them can hear the soft steps down the main hallway, nor do they hear them suddenly stop as the groans and grunts of pleasure that Dean's just letting spill forth from his lips get louder. They  _definitely_  don't hear the tiny snicker at the loud, "fuck fuck oh fuck oh fuck gonna cum, oh fuck" that Dean grits out - like he's some teenage boy, he's got no control over any of this, why is Jimmy so damn great with his mouth it's not fair - before an almost anguished sounding moan as he finally reaches his release, shoving himself once more into Jimmy's mouth and holding his head in place as he feels his legs go weak, the force of his orgasm nearly making him collapse.

With precision that could only be deemed 'professional' or 'expert,' Jimmy swallows it all without spilling a single drop, taking the shredded scraps of Dean's tank top that is hanging out of his front pocket to wipe at the corners of his mouth, the giggle he lets out throaty and… honestly kind of wet sounding, which makes an unwanted shiver go through Dean's still sensitive body. "Feel better champ?"

"Fuck I think I love you."

"Careful, let your brain resolidify, you're not you when it's melted. Let's get you put together, so you can get yourself some beer and wings, ok pumpkin?"

"Y-yeah…"

"You're welcome."

"Fuckin' thank you."

"Shut up, let's go."

Pulling himself up the ground by using Dean's dangling arms, he has to prop himself up on his toes a bit to place a gentle kiss against Dean's lips, murmuring softly how proud he was, before he started to work on placing Dean's jeans and belt back where they properly should be.

Meanwhile, back out in the main hallway, Becky Lynch is pressed against the wall, face red both from how flustered overhearing all of that had been, but also in sheer amusement at the terrible pun she'll be making at Jimmy the following morning in Philly.

She's not quite sure how she'll phrase it, but she knows this… she's going to be making a run to Dunkin Donuts, to get Jimmy a dozen Boston Kremes.


End file.
